Last part! Thank you for reading. As always, feedback? Love it.

It was well past 11pm by the time Harry, flanked by two police officers rang the front door of the house. But missing his curfew seemed to be the least of Harry's worries at the moment.

Despite the late hour, Justin Morningway answered the door wearing his suit. In the midst of the maelstorm that was going on in his mind, Harry feebly realized that he'd never actually seen his uncle wearing anything else.

"Good evening, sir," greeted the cop on Harry's right. "Are you Justin Morningway?"

"Yes," he answered, his eyes flickering from the officer to Harry, who mentally wished for things to speed up.

"Sir, your nephew was found by the theater manager of the Pavilion in town, breaking and entering."

"I see."

"Mr. Essex is not pursuing any legal action as nothing was broken or damaged," the officer assured, though it hardly looked like Morningway needed assurance. "Just a warning this time. But perhaps you should have a word with your nephew," he added, barely keeping the irritated tone.

Harry knew that by looking at the house and at Uncle Justin, the cop had pretty much pegged him to be a bored rich kid who got off causing minor trouble and generally wasting everyone's time.

"Of course," Morningway agreed, genially. "Thank you, officers for all you've done. I apologize for my nephew's behavior. It won't happen again. Will it, Harry?"

"No, definitely not," Harry said, quickly, not caring about the smug look on the cop's face. He just wanted this to be over and done with so he could tell his uncle about losing Bob. He rushed in to the house when his uncle moved aside to give him room and waited as Morningway bid the officers goodnight and re-affirmed that he would have a serious discussion with his wayward charge. The minute the door closed, Harry leapt forward.

"Uncle Justin-"

"You do realize the time?" his uncle interrupted. The sheer absurdity of a missed curfew nearly made the teen laugh had it not been for the gravity of the situation.

"Punish me all you want," he said, quickly. "But we have a much larger problem. I lost Bob's skull."

"You lost the skull?" Morningway repeated, slowly, his green eyes unreadable.

"I don't know what happened," said Harry. "But he's gone! The skull was in my bag and it was only later after I'd left the theater that I realized it was missing. I went back to look for him and nothing. Someone's taken him!"

"Harry, calm down," Morningway ordered. "I'm sure if he was about to be stolen, Bob would have said something."

"But that's just it," Harry continued, mournfully. "He couldn't. I put a spell on the skull to dampen down his senses. He wouldn't have been able to tell if someone was taking him. Or even come out if he could." He looked at his uncle, who stared back at Harry, silently. "Please, Uncle Justin. Punish me however you want, but please, you have to find him!" he pleaded. "You said you had a way of tracking the skull, right?"

The unchanging expression on his uncle's face didn't give Harry much comfort. Instead, the older man grasped the teen's arm to direct him to toward his study. "Come with me. Explain to me this spell you put on the skull."

"I modified an Amens spell," Harry explained, hurrying down the hall with his uncle. "I merged it with the cohibeo spell so that it would work on a spirit. I can show you the specific runes I used if that'll help," he said rapidly.

Morningway pushed open his study door. "That won't be necessary."

A low fire was burning in the vast fireplace next to his uncle's desk. Sitting on the desk in its usual place, was Bob's skull, still wrapped in the torn pillowcase strip.

"You have it!" Harry exclaimed. "I…how?!"

"You honestly think I would let something as valuable as the skull walk out of here with you without taking some precautions?" asked Morningway, scornfully. "I was alerted the minute you cast that makeshift spell of yours."

"But...how did you get the skull?" Harry asked.

"The skull is my property. I have rights to it," said Morningway as a means of explanation. While the teen wanted details, he was too relieved to see the skull safe to press the issue. He moved toward the desk to take off the cloth when a hand clamped down on his arm, forcefully pushing him back.

"Stay where you are," Morningway commanded, his voice hard. "I'm not done speaking to you yet."

Stumbling backwards, the teen braced himself for the verbal fury that was no doubt going to rain down on him. But the adrenaline of knowing Bob was no longer lost did wonders to soothe over any apprehension.

"I've been studying this spell since I retrieved the skull," said Morningway, leaning against his desk. "Where did you learn this?"

"I didn't learn it," Harry said, quietly. "I made it up."

"You made it up?"

"Yes."

Morningway paused. When Harry dared to glance up, he saw there was more a curious look on his uncle's face rather than blatant anger. But the look soon vanished back into that unreadable mask. "Do you know what an Amens spell does to a human?" Morningway asked.

"It dampens the senses," Harry answered.

"It robs them of their five senses completely," his uncle corrected. "You can't see, feel, hear, smell or taste. It's like you're without a body. Some find it peaceful. Others are driven mad by it if they're under the thrall for too long." Harry shifted uncomfortably.

"I won't deny your ability to come up with this spell at your age is clever," Morningway continued, mildly. "But it's hardly original. Spells like this were cast on ghosts long before as a means of alleviating hauntings if they could not be exorcised completely. It causes spirits to lose their place in this world. They couldn't haunt what they could not see or hear. But this binding element you threw in. That's new. Explain that to me. How did you do that?"

While his uncle no longer sounded upset, Harry grew mortified at what he was being told. "Uncle Justin, the spell's been on Bob for hours! Take off the cloth!" He moved forward to do it himself, when he felt an invisible force push him back from his approach.

Morningway's green eyes glittered coldly. "I asked you a question."

"But you just said it made ghosts….why did you leave it on?" Harry protested. "Uncle Justin, please."

"I'm still waiting for you to answer my question."

The teen moved to argue again when he realized he was just wasting time. His uncle wasn't going to give into him. Ever. He had all the time in the world to argue with his nephew if he so wished. Bob didn't have that luxury.

"It's the last four runes on the cloth," Harry explained, pointing to the strip. "I inverted them from the cohibeo spell. When it attaches to the first half of the Amens and the rune carved next to the left eye socket of the skull. It locks everything in."

The older man picked up the skull. He made a speculative sound in the back of his throat as he studied the symbols on the cloth and how they connected with the ones on the bones.

"Uncle Justin, please, let him out."

Morningway looked over at his nephew at the plaintive request. The firelight cast a sheen over his glasses and all Harry could see were the whites of the light that hid his uncle's eyes from view. But the older man's lips tilted into the barest hint of a smile as he finally pulled off the strip.

There was an audible click of a lock coming undone. The minute the skull was released, a spark of orange pushed out from its forehead and the familiar shape formed quickly next to Morningway.

While it was brief, Harry could see the near frantic expression on the ghost's face, like a man who'd been holding his breath for too long and was only now allowed to take in some air. The spirit glared contemptuously at Morningway by default, who gave him a mild look back, still holding onto the cloth Harry had written out.

"I suppose there's no need to ask if you taught him this," said Morningway with a smirk. Bob's eyes fell to the strip in his keeper's hand. He recognized the handwriting. "It would be too ironic if you had."

"Bob, I'm sorry," Harry apologized when the ghost looked over at him. "I didn't know…I didn't think…"

"Explain why you felt the need to cast this spell," Morningway ordered.

"I wanted to just spend some time alone with Amy," Harry explained. How was it that his uncle was making him feel like that was wrong?

"Did it ever enter your mind that it would be prudent to test this new spell of yours before casting it?" Morningway asked.

"Yes," Harry replied, sincerely, addressing his response to the ghost who still hadn't said anything on the matter.

"So, by your words, it did occur to you that the spell might not be ready yet to cast. But you did it anyway on the skull because you felt your priorities for the evening were more important," his uncle surmised.

"No, it wasn't like that," the teen argued, though already he was halfway agreeing with his uncle's take on it. As awful as it made him sound, Harry realized that was pretty much what had happened. He just felt the need to try and explain himself a little more. If anything because he hated the way Bob was looking at him.

For his part, Uncle Justin looked nonplussed. "He's already creating spells on his own when properly motivated," he addressed the ghost. "If you're not careful, he may surpass us all," he added with a grin.

"Yes," Bob answered, shortly, keeping his gaze on the teen.

While Bob didn't look particularly angry at Harry, there was something else in the pale eyes as he regarded him that to the teen felt worse. It was as if the ghost had assessed something about him and things now would be different. Standing only a few feet away, Harry suddenly felt there were miles distancing him from the ghost.

"Bob, I didn't know what I was doing," he said, rapidly, trying to close the chasm opening between them. "It's not an excuse, but I wasn't thinking and I stupidly did the spell without-"

"Harry, that's enough," Morningway said, firmly.

A cold snake twisted within Harry's stomach as the ghost remained silent. "Bob, please, I'm sorry-"

"Harry, stop," his uncle ordered. "I'm more disturbed by your recklessness and lack of adherence to my rules than the spell it self."

Harry barely caught himself from giving his uncle a nasty glare. Who the hell cared what he thought? He only wished his uncle would leave them alone so he could just explain to Bob he hadn't meant to trap and torture the ghost in his own skull like that.

"Sorry, Uncle Justin," he managed to grind out.

"Your interactions with that girl are to cease immediately," said Morningway. "You are not to take phone calls from her or arrange to meet with her again. You also will remain on the grounds of this house until further notice."

Later, when Harry would have some time to process everything, he realized his uncle was probably almost glad to have this excuse to isolate him inside the house and away from anyone who wasn't a part of their world. While in the years he'd been living with his uncle, Harry had adapted quickly to his magical surroundings, a part of him had always remained firmly rooted to the normal world and at times even yearned for it. The world that he had shared with his father. Now there would be one less foothold.

But at the moment, all Harry wanted was to fix whatever he had broken between himself and his teacher.

"Do you understand what I'm telling you?" Morningway asked.

"Yes, Uncle Justin," Harry answered.

"Go to bed."

The teen hesitated, wanting to at least get one minute alone to talk to the ghost, but his uncle looked expectedly at him, the skull still in his hand. Seeing it was a lost battle, Harry nodded and sadly left.

Despite having a bad night's sleep, Harry was up by 8am, which was a good two hours before his usual wake up time on the weekends. It was a Saturday, which meant he was free from any lessons until noon. Normally, he would have ridden his bike into town before then, but now since he was grounded, he had four hours to kill. Or rather, four hours to agonize.

The texts he'd used the night before were still open to the appropriate pages on his desk along with unfinished homework Bob had assigned him. Usually Harry scribbled them out about an hour before his lessons, much to his spectral tutor's chagrin. But seeing as he had nothing to do, the teen sat down and attempted to get some work done.

His mind, however, kept flipping back to the previous evening. If Bob had been furious at Harry, scolded him or even shown anything on his face to indicate his anger, he would have felt better. Anger, he could handle. But there had been something fundamentally removed about the ghost's expression. Something akin to indifference and the thought of that made Harry's chest tighten.

Almost an hour later as he continued to try and put extra care into his assignments, Harry heard the phone ring downstairs. Uncle Justin had his own line that led directly to his study where almost all of his calls went. The main line was open mainly for guests to use when visiting and recently any calls for Harry. After several rings, the line went silent. The teen wondered if it had been Amy.

It doesn't matter, he thought. I'll never see her again. I'll never even get to talk to her again. It was better that he forgot about her.

Harry stayed in his room, re-doing his essay three times over throughout the morning. He hadn't seen or spoken to Uncle Justin yet, which wasn't unusual. He hadn't seen or spoken to Bob yet either, which again, wasn't so unusual these days. But today, the utter silence had a particularly isolating effect on the teen. He hadn't felt this kind of loneliness in awhile. He had been reaching a point when he had been starting to take for granted never feeling it again.

At a quarter to noon, he ventured downstairs to get something to eat before his lesson.

The ghost was waiting for him as per usual. The feeling Harry had the night before of being separated from Bob by miles remained.

"Hi, Bob," Harry greeted nervously. He hung back by the door.

"Are you going to stand there all day?" inquired Bob, mildly.

"Uh, no." He quickly entered the room and spread out the pages he'd spent all morning on. "Here's my essay."

"I'll read it over while you start today's lesson," said Bob. "Please draw out the elements for a transmutation spell on the board," he instructed.

Obediently, Harry walked over and picked up the chalk while the ghost leaned down to read the pages the teen had spread across the table. Harry got as far as pressing the chalk to the blackboard before he spun around.

"Bob, we have to talk."

The ghost looked up from his reading, his expression blank. "Talk?"

"I'm so, SO sorry," Harry stressed. "I was stupid and I was careless. I never should have done that spell."

"It's fine," Bob replied.

"No, it's not," Harry persisted.

"You didn't do anything wrong," the ghost explained, patiently. "You didn't use any black magic, you didn't endanger any lives and you didn't expose any magical element to the outside world. If anything your spell kept things under additional wraps."

"But it's not fine," Harry said. "I endangered your life."

"I'm dead. It doesn't count."

"Yes, it does. Of course it does," insisted Harry. "Bob, I know you're upset with me. Please, just tell me what I can do to fix this."

The ghost blinked, laconically. "You're getting yourself worked up. There's nothing to fix." The teen could see that it was true, Bob didn't look upset. But his general demeanor was similar to how it was whenever the ghost was speaking to Uncle Justin. And the idea that the spirit was equating him with his uncle made Harry all the more nervous.

"Things are different now though," said the teen, gripping the chalk in his hand. "You're not…you're not looking at me the same way as before.

"Of course things are going to be different," replied Bob. "Time is passing, you're growing older." The first time since the conversation began, Harry could finally hear some small amount of emotion creeping into the ghost's voice.

"What do you mean by that?" he asked.

"You're growing up," the ghost restated, his pale eyes unmoved. "You're growing into the world your uncle has envisioned for you. One of power. It's only natural that the time is coming when you will start asserting what you want and going after it."

"You mean be ruthless like Uncle Justin?" Harry demanded. "I'll never be like that!"

"It's a natural progression for wizards of your family's ilk. You use the tools available to you. There's nothing wrong with it," the spirit reiterated, coldly.

"Stop saying that!" the teen protested, getting increasingly upset. He willed himself not to get hysterical, but the lack of effect his words were having on his teacher had desperation clawing at him. "Of course it's wrong. It's completely wrong if you're going to look at me like that."

"Look at you like what?"

"Like you don't care anymore," said Harry, feeling vaguely pathetic, but not caring at this point. "Bob, you're staring at me the way you stare at Uncle Justin. And I know you don't like him because he orders you around like some slave. I wouldn't ever do that. Ever. You're my friend."

The ghost's expression shifted slightly as he crouched down to where the desolate teen sat. "Harry," he began, quietly. The addressing of his name alone gave Harry a faint glimmer of hope.

"It doesn't matter what spell I did," Harry said, earnestly. "I shouldn't have done one on you at all. I shouldn't have treated you like that and I'm so, so sorry. I wish I could take it back, but I can't. But I promise I'll never do anything like that ever again."

"It's alright."

"You don't believe me," realized Harry.

"I know you mean it right now," Bob replied, not unkindly. "But you're only 15. The world and your status in it will be very different when you come of age."

"That won't change how I feel about you," Harry insisted. The ghost didn't respond. "How can you think I'd be like that?"

Bob got up with a sigh, walking back toward where his skull sat. "I did not think you would. But that might have been more hope on my part than rationality."

"No, you're right the first time," said Harry, getting up and following. "Bob, last night was only a mistake. A really, really dumb, stupid mistake."

"I'm really the last one to lecture you about right and wrong," started the ghost.

"You don't need to. I know last night was wrong. And I won't do it again," Harry said, firmly.

"Harry, your affections toward me are appreciated," said Bob, gently. "You really have no idea how much. But I have no rights to them."

"That's not true!" Harry began, but the ghost held up a hand to stop the protesting before the teen got a grip on it.

"It is just the nature of things. The world will move forward and people will move on. I, however, cannot and I can't expect those around me to remain static. It is the nature of my punishment."

"Well, screw that," Harry said, flatly. The ghost blinked at him. "Fine, so I'll get older and eventually I'll move away." The teen silently longed for the day he could get out from under his uncle's watch. "That doesn't mean I'll just forget about you. I'll come visit. And maybe one day Uncle Justin will give your skull to me."

Bob raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"Yeah, okay, maybe not," the teen conceded. "But I'll still come see you. And I won't ever treat you the way he does. Even if you think that's normal or expected. I'll prove you wrong."

The ghost gave a slight smile and Harry felt the distance between them close a little. "That's oddly comforting."

Returning the gesture, Harry felt the tightness in his body unwind a little. "So do you accept my apology?"

"Yes, I do."

"Because I really am sorry," Harry reiterated to push out the last of his nervousness. "I had no idea what that spell was going to do to you."

"It was almost worth it if the guilt inspires you to give so much attention to your work," said the ghost, gesturing to Harry's spread paper. "Your essay is unusually well-detailed."

"Maybe I'll hold up the standard," Harry replied, unconvincingly.

"Yes, well, one lives in hope," Bob sighed. "Or not, in my case."

At the familiar look of exasperation on the spirit's face, Harry nearly hugged the skull in relief.

THE END